"Where's Lone at?" Brit moved restlessly on the pillow and twisted his face at the pain.

"Lone isn't back, either."

"He ain't? Where'd he go?"

Lorraine came to the bedside and, lifting Brit's head carefully, arranged the pillow as she knew he liked it. "I don't know where he went," she said dully. "He rode off just after dinner. Do you want your supper now? Or would you rather wait until Frank brings the fruit?"

"I'd ruther wait—if Frank don't take all night," Brit grumbled. "I hope he ain't connected up with that Echo booze. If he has——"

"Oh, no, dad! Don't borrow trouble. Frank was anxious to get home as soon as he could. He'll be coming any minute, now. I'll go listen for the wagon."

"No use listenin'. You couldn't hear it in that sand—not till he gits to the gate. I don't see where Lone goes to, all the time. Where's Jim and Sorry, then?"

"Oh, they've had their supper and gone to the bunk-house. Do you want them?"

"No! What'd I want 'em fur? Not to look at, that's sure. I want to know how things is going on this ranch. And from all I can make out, they ain't goin' at all," Brit fretted. "What was you 'n Lone talkin' so long about, out in the kitchen last night? Seems to me you 'n' him have got a lot to say to each other, Raine."

"Why, nothing in particular. We were just—talking. We're all human beings, dad; we have to talk sometimes. There's nothing else to do."